


Sing for Me a Song

by Kaddi



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, can be read as platonic or romantic, comfort's more important, does this count as a sickfic, light angst at the start and fluff later on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaddi/pseuds/Kaddi
Summary: Master always soothed his pain with her singing. Master isn't here.---Zehek is sick again.





	Sing for Me a Song

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to "[You Are Enough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrlRyZq19zQ)" by Sleeping At Last for keeping me company on this journey

Pain is a constant companion he cannot imagine living without anymore. The strain his curse places on his body weakens his immune system enough that he may as well not have one at all. Magic and illness constantly fight over who has the right to screw him over, with his body as the battlefield.

This night it's awful. His body is shaking so much he can barely breathe. As if nasal congestion wasn't enough, each sharp intake of air stings. Spilt tea stains the wooden floor, which is littered with shards from more than one broken mug. His shaking hands can't hold onto anything. Blankets pool around his ankles while he sits huddled on his bed. He's cold, but even just one blanket feels suffocating.

Master isn't here to make it better. Master always makes it better. He is left alone in agony, holed up in his room drenched in nausea. He wants nothing more than to rest while his body does everything to disallow it. No matter how he tosses and turns, he never gets comfortable, always inevitably gets up and paces around his room. Nothing helps. Nothing.

He staggers to the deck in the useless hope that fresh air will make him feel better. His legs give way. Slumped against the railing, desperate tears prick his eye. Just one moment of rest, that's all he asks for! This continuous torment is unbearable. Unfocussed his gaze flits across the stars. He has called upon them countless times to help him. They never answer.

 

Until now.

 

Soft singing reaches his ears. The music gently envelops him and coaxes his body to relax. It drives away the prickling hurt in his lungs and wipes the tears from his eye. It offers him comfort.  
He takes a careful breath. When that doesn't hurt he gently presses on his chest. The pain is truly gone? Magic!

Master must be back! She always sung for him to loosen agony's clutch. It was only through her magical voice and the soft, lingering touches that he has not lost himself to his suffering.

Only when he is already chasing after the singing does he realise he is well enough to get up, to move. He scrambles up to the bow, where he finds the source. There, facing the brilliant full moon, sits Elta. Not his Master. Harp in hand, he plucks a simple tune and sings. It is no song Zehek has ever heard, and uses no words he can understand. Such is magic.

It doesn't heal him enough to free him completely. He lowers himself to the ground, content now that he is closer to the music. It washes over him in gentle waves, washes away the pain and discomfort he carried with him all night. Without meaning to, his eye slips closed as exhaustion guides him to slumber.

 

* * *

 

Elta hears a faint crash and jolts, anxiously searching for the source until he finds Zehek on the ground. Immediately he discards his instrument to rush over and check on him.

But when he crouches down, Zehek's face isn't scrunched up in pain, or his breathing laboured, or _anything_ indicating that he may be unwell. No, all he finds is Zehek sleeping peacefully on the Grandcypher's deck.  
Yeah, right, 'sleeping peacefully'! Here on the deck! In the biting winter cold! Elta is wearing three layers of clothing plus his winter coat and he's still freezing, meanwhile all Zehek has on are his pyjamas.  
He must have fainted. Why would he faint? And why here, at the bow? Wait, didn't he get sick often? Captain had told him about their numerous escapades over tea and he's sure Zehek being sick came up more than once. So he's actually sick?

He gently presses a hand against Zehek's forehead - but quickly yanks it back. He's burning up! Well, if he wasn't before he's definitely panicking now. He came out here, without any warm clothes, and fainted right behind Elta, who is now solely responsible for his survival. The infirmary is nowhere near here! It's in the opposite direction! His mind stops. No, isn't it near the private quarters, below where they are? Or – good heavens, he has no idea where the infirmary really is! His mind is completely blank.

Okay, calm down. Let's first get out of the cold. That's productive.

He heaves Zehek in his arms, staggering under the weight. No doubt anyone else could have carried him with ease, but no, of course he had to be the only one around.

By the time he gets inside his arms quake from the exertion. He needs to exercise more. What now? Being inside isn't nearly as warm as he had hoped. He should just bring Zehek to his room, though again, he has no idea where that is. All he knows is where his own is. Deciding that going there is better than standing in the hallway waiting for a miracle, and that he really should ask Djeeta for panic training, he moves again.

Only when he deposits Zehek on his bed and goes about rearranging the blankets to cover him does he slowly calm down. Knowledge of any locations other than his room continues to evade him, but at least Zehek's condition hasn't worsened. He's still fast asleep.

He sighs with relief. Zehek will be fine. He's not on the brink of death, unlike what panicked Elta wants to make him believe.

 

Now a new problem arises; Where is he supposed to sleep? His own bed is both occupied and very small. His gaze falls to the dusty ground. The floor it is, then. He starts by pulling out some blankets from the nest on his bed – he keeps about five blankets there at all times and Zehek won't need that many. He leaves him with the warmest one. Some more blankets are lying about that he adds to his pile. Deeming the layer big enough that the floor won't kill his back, he leaves to fetch his discarded harp and a pitcher of water for Zehek. Sick people have to drink a lot.

 

Once he's back in his room, he finally sheds his winter coat and settles into his makeshift bed. His fingers itch for something to do, so he picks up his harp and starts playing again.

 

* * *

 

When Zehek comes to, he is warm, comfortable, and entirely unwilling to move. He has no idea how he made it back to his room yesterday. All he remembers is lying on the bow... It doesn't matter now. Not when he's snuggled under a blanket, pain-free for the first time in _days_. He sinks back into his pillow and sighs, willing the ever-present tension in his body to leave. For as long as possible, he will treasure this moment.

All good things must come to an end, though. As he rolls to lie on his side he realises his nasal congestion from yesterday is gone, so he can smell again. He hadn't noticed with the blanket pulled over his nose. That's the problem. This pillow does not smell like _his_ pillow at all. He shoots up, takes a deep breath. This whole _room_ doesn't smell like his! He furiously rubs the sleep from his eye and blinks as he cautiously looks around. It... doesn't look like his room, either. A bit dumbfounded, all he does is sit there for some moments more. Why isn't he in his room?

Intent on getting back to his own bed (never mind finding out whose he slept in), he swings his legs over the edge. His feet hit something solid. Warm and solid. His breath stutters in his throat and he freezes in place. Whatever he hit is moving rhythmically. Back and forth, back and forth. It makes no move to attack him so he peers over the bed. There's Elta, lying on the ground in a mess of blankets. Only his brown hair is visible. Zehek bends down and lightly pulls the blanket away, uncovering Elta's peaceful, sleeping face. A dream. But no, even after pinching himself Elta is still there, on the ground, sleeping next to what – heavens – must be his own bed. He's in Elta's room. Why is he in Elta's room? Intelligently, he pokes Elta's cheek. The boy knits his eyebrows for only a second before they smooth out again, and his sleep goes on.

  
The next thing Zehek does is an even better idea. He scrambles backwards, hits his calves against the bed and falls backwards. He roughly tumbles to the ground. The commotion wakes Elta, who groggily sits up and looks around. He spots Zehek, a mess of limbs, on the other side of the bed and giggles.

“Morn' Zek. Sleep well?”

He flushes and nods. Where did the nickname come from? Elta yawns and crawls out of his nest of blankets to stretch his arms over his head and sit on the bed.

“How're you?”

Zehek startles, surprised at being addressed again. Isn't he going to be thrown out?

“Better,” he says.

His response makes Elta smile happily.

“I... couldn't sleep last night,” no need to burden him with the severity of his condition, “so I went to get fresh air. I was attracted by your singing.”

Elta stares at him with. He uselessly opens and closes his mouth, eventually deciding to press it closed with one hand. Red colour rises to his cheeks. It makes Zehek stare in return. For why would he act so surprised?

“Where have you learned your magic?” he asks, hoping to distract Elta from whatever made him clam up.

“'Magic'?” he echoes, cocking his head.

“Yes. I thought only Master knew of this ancient art, yet your singing provided the same relief to my cursed body as hers.”

Strangely enough, that makes Elta scratch his cheek and avert his eyes. That lovely red returns to his cheeks.

“Ah, well, you see...”

Zehek urges him to continue with a quiet hum. Elta briefly locks their gazes before looking past him again.

“I don't... have... magic? Er, I don't know any magic? I mean, there's nothing magical about me, much less about my singing!”

Zehek frowns.

“That's impossible,” he declares.

“W-what?”

“I clearly felt the warmth of your song penetrate my body. You soothed my misery.”

There's a pause after that. Elta doesn't answer him, fiddling with the hem of his shirt instead. Zehek doesn't want to force words out of him. He sits back, marvelling at the ease of his motions. Some of the discomfort is back – magic is no panacea – though not enough to trouble him.

Elta sneaks one hand on his own.

“You know... Whenever you want to hear me sing, you can just ask.”

Without thinking Zehek intertwines their fingers, his attention zeroed in on Elta. Elta, whose smile is somewhat wobbly, but whose eyes radiate warmth and _confidence_.

“I will,” he answers.

Elta exhales in relief, squeezing his hand.

“I know a lot of lullabies!” he says happily.

Zehek returns the smile and closes his eye.

“Though I fear I will use up your voice quickly.”

“Use me as much as you like!” Elta replies immediately.

Just as quickly he slaps his free hand over his mouth. But Zehek laughs. It puts Elta at ease, and he sheepishly joins in.

“Thank you, Elta.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Last month late at night I made a note that just said "ZEHEK/ELTA". Last week, I started this fic!
> 
> There's nothing to support this in canon, but I like the idea of Mishra being able to interweave singing with magic. It allowed me to link Zehek and Elta in any case hehe
> 
>  
> 
> [(twitter)](https://twitter.com/Lanzelilot)


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